


I Can Never Say I'm Truly Free (If I Keep Replacing "I" With "We")

by grandfatherclock, smokeandjollyranchers



Series: Objectivist on Fire [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Community: widojest love, Depressed jester, F/M, Heretic!Au, Jester just trying to cope, Lord sharpe being a scumbag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 05:30:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20670104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandfatherclock/pseuds/grandfatherclock, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokeandjollyranchers/pseuds/smokeandjollyranchers
Summary: The weight of her fucking failure crashes over her between the roaring of the waves, and Jester desperately tries to steel herself against the pain. She watches the stars from her bed, knowing if she closes her eyes she’ll see that look on his face when she touched him. She’ll see the way he recoiled from her touch as though she’d struck him. When Jester Lavorre closes her eyes she has to face the reality that Bren Aldric Ermendrud is almost certainly dead.And it’s her fault.





	I Can Never Say I'm Truly Free (If I Keep Replacing "I" With "We")

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second arc of Heretic AU. Here's a link to the first: [_Kingdom Come_](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1347814).

Jester goes through cycles of loving and hating the ocean. 

From three in the morning to six in the morning, she _ loves _ it. The crashing of waves against the rocks below is something that she can set her breathing to, when the overwhelming _ emptiness _ threatens to come for her again. The weight of her fucking _ failure _ crashes over her between the roaring of the waves, and Jester desperately tries to steel herself against the _ pain. _ She watches the stars from her bed, _ knowing _ if she closes her eyes she’ll see that _ look _ on his face when she touched him. She’ll see the way he recoiled from her touch as though she’d _ struck _ him. When Jester Lavorre closes her eyes she has to face the reality that Bren Aldric Ermendrud is almost certainly dead. 

_ And it’s her fault _. 

Her arms wrap around shaking shoulders and she grips at herself _ desperately _ , until she’s sure there will be bruises on blue skin, and she grits her teeth against the guilt. _ Guilt that she showed him, guilt that it took her this long to do it, guilt that she loved him and wanted him to know, guilt that she loves that man at all, guilt for what her stupidity has cost him, guilt at what her stupidity has cost her people, guilt at what her stupidity has cost Oxten— _

_ Oxten. _

Jester imagines her friend’s face, her long black hair, her sly little smile, how one of her tusks was just a little bit shorter than the other, and her jaw nearly cracks with the pressure she’s grinding her teeth with. She isn’t long into her torment before she feels gentle hands pulling her fingers from digging into her skin. The hands aren’t cold, they aren’t warm, they just _ are _ , and Jester exhales a breath into a sob as she turns to rest in the Traveler’s chest. His form flickers but it’s _ solid, _ and Jester falls apart into his chest, giving up on words when only sobs come out. He’s quiet, he always knows when to be, and he holds her against his chest until she stops shaking. There’s a few beats of careful silence before she pushes her forehead deeper into his chest before she whispers. “I can’t make this go away.”

_ Perhaps, my heart, this isn’t something that can be willed away _ . She feels his hand resting on her head for a moment, and it’s so _ comforting _ , Jester almost begins crying again. The Traveler smiles, she can _ hear _ it in his voice. _ I know it couldn’t possibly hurt worse than this. I know you don’t want to hear it will get better, I won’t tell you how you will feel someday. Today, you feel like you’re dying, and you get to feel that. _

She can feel his hand gather her hair at the base of her neck. _ But you, my heart, are not meant to live in such sorrow. The guilt you’re assigning yourself is exactly that—assigned yourself. I’m not telling you to get over this, you do that as you need to. I’m telling you to spare yourself even a fraction of the mercy you were willing to show the killer that claimed your heart. _

“He’s not _ just _—” Jester stops, letting her hands fall from where they clenched into fists again. “… I let him down.”

_ You set him free, and he desperately needed that. Sleep now, my heart, things will pass as they’re meant to, but they will pass. _

Jester sniffs, falling into the lull of his voice and the way his arms stay wrapped around her, even as his form flickers. She leans into the heartbeat she knows he made for _ her _, and she closes her eyes. They lay there for a while, Jester listening to the waves crash and his heartbeat as the sky shifts in colors slightly, and Jester finally feels sleep creeping into her mind. Just before she exhales into her hard fought rest, she hears the Traveler’s soft voice in her head, his tone a little stilted. 

_ Does it sound strange to you? _

* * *

Jester hears them nearly fifteen seconds before they get to her doorway. 

Samson sighs already, and she digs herself a little deeper into her blankets, trying to hide from the sun telling her it’s _ very _ much morning, she is _ very _ much still Jester Lavorre, and it is still _ very _ much the reality that she lost Bren. She can hear their footsteps stop at the edge of her bed, and Jester swallows hard. “High Priestess…”

“You said I could have three days to sulk.” Jester argues from the blankets, and she can picture Samson rolling their eyes. 

“It’s _ been _ three days,” Samson urges her, softly. “You need to get out of bed, you need to _ eat _ something, I’ll bet your hair is a mess in there—”

“You aren’t making me feel better.” Jester grumbles, wrapping her arms around herself. She hears a long suffering sigh, and she smiles a little despite herself. 

“I have a summons here, addressed to the High Priestess of the Path of the Traveler, from the Council of Nicodranas, that has been sitting on your desk for three days. And now you _ need _ to read it, High Priestess.” Samson waits a couple moments before they speak again. “Please, Jester? I’m worried.” 

A little guilty and a little curious, Jester sits up, blankets barely releasing their grip on her, and Samson smiles. They look tired, _ of course they do _ , they’ve had to do all of their work, and _ hers _ , for the past three days, and she gives them a rueful smile. “ _ Hiiiiiiiiii Samsonnnnnnnnn _.”

They come and sit next to her, handing her the sealed summons and resting their head on her shoulder. “Hiiiiiiiiii Jester.”

“So you don’t know what it is, huh?” Jester asks, running her thumb under the seal. “You didn’t peek at all.”

“I don’t believe in mail fraud.” Samson rolls their eyes. “But I do talk to people, and there’s _ quite _ a few other temples who have gotten the same summons. They aren’t totally sure what it’s about but…”

“Is it from Lord Sharpe?” Jester hisses, glaring at the paper. “Because we can just toss it out to the fucking ocean and be done with it.” 

Samson snorts, rolling their eyes. “No, Lord Sharpe likes to send messengers to deliver his news. One could argue he isn’t sure how to write.” 

“Samson, you really do deserve second in commons here.” Jester laughs, scanning the letter, the pretty script that was probably written by some poor underpaid aid as some stuff council members talked at them. “We’ve been invited to help… validate a claim?” She tilts her head as she continues to read. “There’s a religious group that wants to make its case before Nicodranas, get a holding here. The Council wants us to come and debunk them basically.”

Samson looks over her shoulder. “When?”

“Couple days, from now.” Jester sighs. “… Weird how the council doesn’t want a damn thing to do with us until they need us, huh?”

“Now’s a good chance to solidify _ our _ place here too,” Samson offers. “If we could become a recognized religion we could… get by a little bit easier for everyone.”

Jester runs a hand across her face, trying to ignore the pangs of guilt bouncing around in her ribcage. _ You don’t have time to fall apart when these people are depending on you _. “You’re right, we’ll go. We’ll play nice, I swear, and we’ll do everything we can to make a good impression, and we’ll make this work for us.”

Samson smiles at her, their head still resting on her shoulder. “So you’ll wash your hair then?”

“Let me _ process, _ Samson, fuck.” Jester sticks her tongue out at them. “But _ jaaa _ okay, okay. I’ll be a living person again.”

“Thank you, Jester.” They grin, sitting up. “But you know I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

“What I need… is to be pushed around a little, I think. Thank you, Samson, sorry I haven’t been around.”

Samson gets off the bed, heading towards the door. “You take the time you need, High Priestess, but you have to _ eat _. I’m under orders too.”

Jester smiles at them as they leave, and she runs a hand through the messy bun on her head. She… needs to be a person again. She pulls her tie from her hair, and runs her hand through the strands. She thinks of Bren’s burnt fingers doing the same thing, and she closes her eyes against the sorrow. She can be a High Priestess while she’s dying, she can do _ something _ right in the face of her latest failure, and she’s going to make _ damn _ sure that her people won’t need for anything. 

She closes her eyes, trying not to think of the way he’d smiled at her in her bed, resting on his arm as he stared at her. 

_ Mourning, _ she realizes as she pulls herself from her bed. _ She’s in mourning _. 

It’s been three days since she’s seen Bren, and he’s most certainly dead. 

_ And it’s all her fault _. 

* * *

All of her robes look so _ shabby _. 

Probably because Jester doesn’t spend much _ time _ in robes. She wears shabby _ dresses _ and trousers and tops that she might have stolen from Bren, because she is always fucking working. There’s meetings and gardens and kitchens and schools and there _ isn’t _ any sort of formal wear in this church because Jester is the _ only _ High Priestess there has ever been, and—

She turns away from her closet, eyes on the open windows off her room, and the endless sky in front of her and she walks over to them. Jester Lavorre screams out her window, over the expanse of the ocean and she screams in a way that’s _ absolutely _ going to bring someone running but for now, she just screams. 

The Traveler calls this _ dealing _.

Jester is just hoping to have all of this _ energy _ writhing around in her chest burnt off each time she screams. _ She’s nervous, she’s worried, she’s scared, she’s excited, she can’t fucking wait to show all those old stuffy priests who turn their noses up at her that she’s just as good as them _ . And mostly, this is an opportunity to remind herself _ who _ she is, _ what _ she’s capable of. 

_ Why _ the Traveler picked her. 

When she turns away from the window, Samson is already there, looking only _ mildly _ perturbed. Their hair is done up with some intricate braiding and they look _ amazing _, in their dark green robes. “You… alright?”

“I am almost ready,” Jester answers, smoothing out her white dress as she looks at them. It’s plain, all things considered, but it isn’t shabby. She grabs her green cloak, and pulls it over her shoulders, like armor. She isn’t _ supposed _ to have fancy trinkets, or stupid ornate mantles or _ anything _ like that. Jester walks with the Traveler. Samson offers her their arm and she takes it, smiling at them. 

“Shall we, High Priestess?”

“I think they’re ready for us.”

* * *

It isn’t that the council is _ intimidating _, Jester just… doesn’t like them. 

It’s hard to be _ intimidated _ when she’s seen most of the council in various states of undress and intoxication at the Chateau her whole life but… those same soft drunk men look a little different when they’re all in stark straight robes and _ together _ . Jester walks in with Samson, who already has their notebook out and their eyes taking in every single other face in the room. It’s _ giant _, and the walls and floor are both white, giving it a viciously clean appearance. Around them, various people are chatting. Jester recognizes the priest of the Lawmaker having a conversation with the strange woman who lives in the Melora lighthouse. 

It’s not hard to miss the way the other religious leaders look over her and Samson, with their plain clothes and and modest holy symbols, but they both keep their heads up against the stares. After all, the stares don’t stay on them long, not when Jester’s gaze lands on _ color _ . There’s two people standing off to the side she’s never seen before, and they’re both watching the council mill about before the meeting starts. The woman is… _ breathtaking _ . Her dark brown skin is stark against her curly red hair, and Jester watches her as she slowly takes inventory of every face in the room with _ very _ sharp eyes. She’s covered in jewels and her sleeveless coat is a deep purple. Her arms are crossed, and they’re covered in intricate and beautiful tattoos. Jester is able to _ just _ make out a large eye tattoo on her chest before she turns to speak to her companion. 

The man next to her is… _ beautiful _ . His jawline is angular and perfect and his skin is the _ prettiest _ shade of green Jester’s ever seen in her life. He smiles at whatever the woman says to him, his hand running through black hair streaked with grey. He wears patchwork armor, none of it matching any other pieces, but it all seems to do its job, which is _ stand out _. Jester is fairly certain he’s a half-orc, but she doesn’t see tusks sticking out from his scarred lips. He’s also adorned in jewelry, and there’s something to the tilt of his smile that makes her watch him. 

Jester turns to Samson, who is already looking at her with pleading eyes. “_ Please don’t. _” 

When she looks back over at them, the man is staring at her, with slitted eyes, and Jester can see his smile now, and it is _ insincere _ . She can see it now, the empty _ falseness _behind him. It should upset her, but there’s something comforting in his clear falseness. He reminds her of the coast. “Don’t worry,” she assures Samson. “That’s a different kind of empty.” 

The man with the empty smile says something to the beautiful woman, and she narrows her sharp eyes at him. Whatever he says seems to placate her, but Jester watches as her fingers trail through his hair and she _ kisses _ him, right in front of everyone. He’s grinning as Jester watches him have light conversation with a couple others who watch him with bright, discerning gazes, grinning as he then makes his way towards Jester. She sits at one of the empty tables, Samson settling down next to her, and the man’s grin only gets wider as he approaches, hand on the back of an empty chair. “Good afternoon,” He drawls, nodding at them both. His accent is soft and _ drawling _ and Jester finds herself smiling. “Y’all mind if I join you?” 

Jester nods, and he pulls out the chair to sit across from her. 

"Hey," he drawls, raising a hand to shake hers. She raises her own, still watching him curiously. He’s warm, not as warm as Bren is, _ was? _ He watches her carefully. "You're... new. I've only been to one other of these events, and you weren't at that one."

“I wasn’t.” She smiles politely. “We’ve only recently gotten established in Nicodranas. My name is Jester.”

"They're... slow on the uptake, though it’s good to know that someone _ can _ be established in Nicodranas. We’ve gotten nothing but kickback.” He says, his smile widening. "All sorts of new and interesting gods popping up, and they don't want to see them. My name's Fjord."

“Nice to meet you.”Jester smiles at him, listening to Samson take causal notes next to her. “What brings you to Nicodranas?”

Fjord raises his eyebrow, and Jester keeps her polite smile on her face. Jester has listened to her mother get the most information with the fewest questions for years. Their hands are still intertwined, and Fjord's eyes flick there, causing Jester to let go and flush slightly. "Captain Avantika is fond of this little get-together," he says. "Thinks we should... we should keep stock of what's happening on the land."

Jester stares at him with an even smile, her eyes flicking over to where the woman was laughing with her hand on Lord Arrys’ shoulder. "Captain Avantika? The woman you were with?"

Fjord nods, and tilts his head slightly, looking to the holy symbol cinched at her side. Jester follows his gaze to the Traveler’s doorway. "Priesthood in your twenties," he murmurs. "Good on you, mine were... significantly less holy." Jester raises an eyebrow, and Fjord lets out a half-laugh. "Stupid shit. Gods... change us. Shape our destiny."

Jester nods, watching his face, looking for what he does that seems genuine. She looks down at her holy symbol and smiles. “Depends on what _ your _ god thinks is holy, you know? Things change. They’re supposed to. Or what’s the point right?” 

She waits a moment. “And I’m the _ High Priestess _, technically.” 

Samson's eyes flit between them, and Jester gives them a small smile before turning to the pirate. His slitted eyes watch her carefully, and he seems almost amused—he reminds her a little of Bren, with his calculating smile, and a little of herself, with all that fucking falseness. By all accounts she should be repulsed by it, but he wears it so well.

"I suppose," Fjord says, raising a hand and running it through his hair. Jester watches the movement, watches that slight grey in his hair amongst the black. "My pathway led me to the Great Leviathan, I suppose it all happened how it should've." _ Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit _ —he's so _ charming _ when he lies, though, and Jester is a little enraptured by the performance. "I'm sure it was similar with your god."

“I’ve known the Traveler my whole life.” Jester smiles, hand wrapping around her holy symbol. She watches Fjord, the roughness of the sea, the way he _ wears _ pirate as much as he is one. The _ falseness _ , she’s weirdly comforted by his _ falseness _. 

Fjord smiles. "He must've recognized your brilliance." His praise is both insincere but also not—there's a languid calculation in how he appraises her, how he recognizes her place amongst all these older priests. "High Priestess at your age... he's very clever, your Traveler. He chose well, the gods always seem to. Knew you could get the job done."

“My, you’re quite the charmer.” Jester grins, running a hand through her hair. “You must not have a lot of support huh? If you’re trying to butter me up.”

Fjord stares at her for a moment, before his smile widens. "Or I'm just trying to get you soft for me. It doesn't have to be deeper than that, Jester."

“I mean, sure.” She smiles. “You could just be flirting with me, in which case, you have _ great _ taste. Or you could be trying to garner support for whatever it is that’s sent you here, in which case, the youngest high priest by _ decades _? probably not your best bet.”

"Aw," Fjord says, crossing his arms. There's a shift in him, and he seems to be finally interested. "Don't underestimate yourself, Jester, I'm sure you can do whatever you set your mind to." He tilts his head to her, his slitted eyes bright. "And you think I want something from you because I happened to see a lovely woman staring at me... ah, life's been treating you rough." His lips quirk up. "You could use some loving."

Jester smirks at that, crossing her arms. She thinks of Bren, and the way he so willingly picked _ death _ over _ her _ . “You think so? Does everything about me _ scream _ heartbroken? _ Rescue _ me?”

"Just a little." He plays with one of the rings on his fingers, turning it as he considers her. "You should let yourself be rescued, I've been told it's kind of fun."

“Okay.” She smirks at him. “Show me.”

"Right now?" He raises an eyebrow. "I'm just a quartermaster"—that's an _ important _ position on ships, Jester remembers, he's telling her he's important and also _ not _ , what's his _ game? _—"but don't you have very important people you need to impress?"

“Don’t _ you? _” Jester counters, crossing her arms. “Didn’t your Captain call this meeting?” 

“My _ Captain _sure did.” Fjord grins. “But wouldn’t you rather prefer a one-on-one question-answer experience? Sure beats a boring meeting with a bunch of stuffy priests, right? How about you join me outside? We can go for a walk before the meeting starts.”

Jester thinks about it for a moment, the way he stares at her like he isn’t sure if he should take her _ seriously _ yet, and she stands. “That would be _ fine _, thank you.” 

Samson gives her a _ look _, and Jester places a reassuring hand on their shoulder. “I will be back before the meeting starts, I promise.” 

Fjord is nothing but smug as he offers her his arm to her. Jester takes Fjord's hand, and they walk out the double doors. She doesn't miss the coy look the red-haired woman—Avantika, Fjord called her—gives the half-orc as they leave. "Your captain's your lover?" she says, raising an eyebrow.

Fjord smiles back at her. "It gets lonely on the ship. Sometimes you want a pretty face and a warm body to greet you in your bed at the end of the day.” 

Jester scoffs. “She looks… like she might _ eat _ you.” 

“She will.” Fjord says, conversationally. “Someday she might just rip me apart and I can’t wait.”

Jester gives him a sidelong look, and Fjord gives her a sheepish smile, the practiced face back from the thoughtless macabre of his conversational thoughts. "I'll enjoy it, though." He sighs. "I'll deserve it. Nothing like a mean redhead, am I right?"

She makes a _ face _ , looking back at the ground. “I guess so.” She tries to sound normal, she _ really _ does, but _ fuck _. Jester shrugs, looking out towards the ocean. For nearly ten minutes, she forgot about her mean redhead, and she feels like she might drown in guilt over it. 

Fjord watches her for a moment. "Tell me about your church," he says, conversationally. "I've never heard of the Traveler before."

“Well, he’s only the _ coolest _ god I’ve ever met.” Jester smiles, enamored look on her face. “I’ve known him my _ whole _ life, and he teaches about _ balance _, you know? And how all balance comes from chaos, and all chaos from balance, and order to keep a perfect mix of the two.” 

She smiles at him. “Sometimes you gotta make a little mischief to keep the peace.”

"This is a very structured world, the Menagerie Coast." Fjord crosses his arms, his gaze considering on the smooth pavement of the walkways and the lovely architecture of the buildings. "It could use some chaos."

“You would be surprised.” A voice _ interrupts _ them, and Jester turns around to face Lord Robert Sharpe, in his fine robes and _ smarmy _ fucking face. Fjord takes a step towards her, like he might _ save _ her or something, and Jester just offers her calmest smile to the Lord. “At how hard the coast _ tries _ to prevent chaos.” 

“Well I certainly didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” Fjord smiles. “Just that there should be a balance.” 

“I believe the Lady Avantika is looking for you, Quartermaster.” Lord Sharpe looks him over. 

Fjord nods politely, letting go of Jester’s hand. “Ah, best go see what _ Captain _Avantika needs. Jester, it’s been an absolute pleasure, if you need me, just holler.” 

He leaves, slinking between them and back towards the door. Jester crosses her arms, staring at Lord Sharpe and his cruel grey eyes. “Lord Sharpe, how are you?” 

“What exactly are you doing here, Lavorre?” he spits, and Jester fights the smirk on her face. 

“I was _ invited _, Lord Sharpe,” Jester reminds him, her arms still firmly crossed. “As the High Priestess—”

“Ah yes.” He chuckles to himself. “You and your little delinquents on the cliff.” 

“We’re a _ Church—” _

“Are you?” He lifts his brow. “I don’t recall that petition being approved.”

Jester tries to remain polite, but she’s desperately wishing Samson was here. They’re much better at discussing things like this. “It’s still pending, I believe at _ your _ request, Lord Sharpe.” 

He smirks at her, and Jester narrows her eyes. “Ah, I do believe that is correct, isn’t it? How about this, Lavorre, why don’t you and I have dinner in a week, and we can talk about the _ permanence _ of you little group. As it stands, why it’s barely a church, more of a business really. And if _ that’s _ the case, well. Oh you’ll be subject to permits and fines, and the inevitable _ shut down _ when you can’t maintain—“

Jester swallows, her shoulders nearly going slack as the implication of what he’s saying falls on her shoulders. “Lord Sharpe—“ 

He holds up a hand, silencing her. “But I suppose we can talk about your upcoming homelessness over dinner, can’t we? Now best gather yourself up and get back to the meeting. Have an air of professionalism for _ once _ in your life, _ Priestess.” _

He returns back inside, leaving Jester to suck in air through her teeth outside. Her arms wrap around herself and she tries to catch her breath. _ They can’t just take their home, they can’t just take their home, they can’t just take their home, they can’t just take their home— _

Hands wrap around her shoulders, and Jester looks up into Samson’s concerned brown eyes. “It’s okay, Jester. It’s… we can fight him. I promise we can.” 

Jester sighs, leaning into their chest. “They can’t just… they can’t just take our _ home _, right?” 

Samson frowns. “They could, in a couple ways. We just have to… we just have to get enough support that they’ll approve us. And they _ will, _Jester. We’ve only done good things for Nicodranas since we got here.” 

_ It doesn’t matter _ , she almost tells them, but she can’t. _ It doesn’t matter how much good they do, how many people they save, how many poor they feed, because Lord Sharpe knows who she _ was, _ and she can’t change the past _. 

“We can’t let them take that from us,” Jester hisses, letting Samson pull her to her feet. “They can’t take our home.” 

“They won’t, High Priestess. I promise they won’t.” 

* * *

Jester’s mother isn’t very good at her poker face. 

Which… makes Jesfer think she must _ really _ be worried about this, because Marion Lavorre is _ very _ good with her poker face. Jester tries to offer her mother a comforting smile in the mirror as Marion braids strands of diamonds into her daughter’s hair. “It’s going to be _ fine, _Mama. I promise.” 

“I know, my girl I know, I just… don’t trust that man.” Marion’s eyes get dark, and Jester looks down at her hands. 

“I’m sorry,” Jester apologizes for the thousandth time, her hands clenching into fists. The dark red her mother painted her nails shines like blood in the candlelight, and Jester closes her eyes. “I was _ stupid _, I didn’t know he was going to—“ 

Her mother shushes her, tugging her hair just a little. “You were a _ child _ , playing a _ prank. _ It was… unfortunate that… you were so efficient at humiliating him, but… you were _ fourteen _ , it hardly warrants _ this _ sort of reaction.” 

Jester scoffs, remembering not to run her hand over the makeup her mother had put on her face. “It wasn’t even my best _ work _.” 

Marion leans down so that their faces are next to each other in the mirror. “Just remember to stay calm, and don’t let him make you angry. Never take a bad deal.” 

Jester meets her eyes, smiling. “I would never, I’m your daughter after all.” 

* * *

Lord Sharpe picked the nicest restaurant in Nicodranas, and she’s almost certain he did it to shame her. 

Marion saw this coming, however, which is why Jesfer arrived in a dress more beautiful than anything she has _ ever _ worn, jewels in her hair and red on her lips. She looks _ stunning _ , and Lord Robert Sharpe looks _ incredibly _ upset about it. Jester smiles as she joins him at the table, her eyes watching the way he clenches his jaw as she takes her seat. “Good evening, Lord Sharpe.” 

“Well, don’t you look lovely, Miss Lavorre.” He sits across from her, already annoyed.

Jester puts a _ lovely _ smile on her face. “Thank you, but it’s _ High Priestess _, actually.” 

“Ah, yes.” He smiles ruefully, pouring them both a glass of wine. It’s dark, and matches her nails, and Jester ignores her glass. “Let’s discuss your little group home.” 

“It’s a _ temple _ ,” Jester reminds him, resting her chin on her hands. “We worship the Traveler and live together under his gaze. We have a school teacher, and an ample amount of healers, and what is starting to become a self sustaining garden. Whatever you _ think _ we are, we’re just a church.” 

“I’ve heard you say,” he scoffs. He could’ve been handsome, once, _ maybe _ . His greying hair spreads farther now than it did when she was younger and had locked him outside the Chateau, _ completely _ naked. It was a funny story until Lady Sharpe had unloaded hell upon him. “But you’re a nightmare, little Lavorre. What happens when you and your criminals get bored of being holy and decide to start the trouble you’re _ famous _ for?”

Jester feels the anger spark in her chest, but she swallows it, putting on that coy smile that she’s seen Bren use time and time again. “Criminal is a harsh word for runaway courtesans and petty thieves. Not like embezzlement and all that other horrible stuff everyone hears about the council. We’ve filled out our paperwork, and we’ve been good to this city, _ my city _ , and whatever revenge you think you’re getting against _ me _ is hurting _ good people _, Lord Sharpe.” 

“My wife is _ good people _too, Lavorre and you had no trouble hurting her.” He sips his wine, and Jester shakes her head. 

“I was _ fourteen. _”

“And I’m _ still _ suffering for it!” Lord Sharpe narrows his eyes at her. “My wife—”

Jester clenches her fists, shaking her head. “You cheated on your wife! That’s on _ you _ , Lord Sharpe. Blaming me might make you feel better but you can’t make my temple _ homeless _ because you hate my _ guts _.” 

Lord Sharpe watches her for a moment. “Perhaps we can work a deal out, Lavorre. I’m not an unreasonable man.” 

Jester relaxes her shoulders slightly, and she tilts her head. “I would be happy to work something out.” 

Lord Sharpe drags eyes across her body and Jester swallows _ hard _ , watching him. “You do look like your mother. Now, _ holy woman _, how badly do you want to keep your church a church?” 

Jester Lavorre, High Priestess of the Way of the Traveler, smiles at Lord Sharpe, and reaches for her glass of wine, throwing it into his face. He sputters angrily as Jester puts down some gold for the wine on the table, and gets up to leave. “I’m going to keep my church, Lord Sharpe, _ despite _you.” 

She turns and walks towards the door, and if her legs shake in her mother's heels, she hopes no one can tell. 

* * *

She’s down at the docks, and she doesn’t even know _ why _. 

Jester looks around the crowd, and she wrings her shaking hands together. She doesn’t know _ why _ she sent that panicked message to Fjord, but his amused voice had answered her immediately, letting her know he was down at the docks, heading out in a couple hours, but that _ whatever time I have left is yours _. 

So now she’s walking around the docks looking _ far _too attractive, but the crazy look on her face seems to be keeping people away. Jester rounds a corner and she sees Fjord standing outside the bar. He raises his hand, excited grin on his face. “Damn, now this is a look for a Priestess, isn’t it?” 

Jester walks up to him, and immediately feels the words fall out of her mouth. “I threw wine in one of the Lord’s faces tonight because he said I should sleep with him to legitimize my church and now I’ve fucked _ everything _ up and my—my _ boyfriend _ might be _ dead _ and that’s _ my fault _ too and I wanna reach out to him _ desperately _ but he _ told me _ he wouldn’t answer me so I don’t want to—and now I’m gonna lose my temple and I am a _ massive _ fuck up but no one is _ saying it _ , and it’s driving me _ batshit fucking crazy _.” 

Fjord’s face slowly becomes more concerned as she talks, and he looks around awkwardly for a moment before he offers her a cloak from the bag on his shoulder. “Oh shit, Jester, I’m… I’m sorry. That’s… that’s a lot.” 

Jester _ laughs _ a little at that, wrapping the cloak around herself. “Sorry, I just… I needed someone who didn’t have to be nice to me, to know I’m _ruining_ everything, because you don’t feel a need to make me feel better.” 

“I’m—“ Fjord sighs, and Jester wonders if she finally caught him. “I’m not going to make you feel bad for fucking up, Jester. Really, I’m not. People fuck up _ all _ the time. And I promise, they fuck up way worse than throwing wine in a Lord’s face. Which is _ legendary _, by the way.” 

Jester smiles at that and he continues to speak. “Now, even if shit is bad right now, I’ll bet you can figure it out. You seem… frighteningly capable.” 

Fjord puts a hand on her shoulder, and then back towards the tavern. “I really wish we weren’t, but we’re headed out soon. If you ever wanna send me another one of those tricky little messages, I’d love to hear from you. Like I said, gets lonely on the ocean.” 

Jester smiles at him, wrapping the cloak around herself tighter. “Thanks Fjord, I… I appreciate it.” 

“You want me to walk you back to your temple? I would be happy to do it.” He grins at her, and Jester shakes her head, looking out over the ocean. 

“I’m _ fine _ , Fjord. I’m a big scary High Priestess.” She rolls her eyes, and she can _ hear _ the Traveler’s voice in her head. _ Does it sound strange to you? _ “But… do you _ think… _ you could tell me if you see anything _ weird _ out there?” 

Fjord blinks, looking at her with confusion on his face. “Uh? Sure, no problem. I’ll keep my eye out.” 

Jester smiles at him, turning on her heels. “Thanks, Fjord, for listening to me. I’ll talk to you _ soon _! Be safe on the water!” 

She’s smiling when she leaves, his cloak still on his shoulders, and it almost makes her feel a little better as she walks back towards the temple full of people she let down tonight. As she walks, she can’t help but think about Bren _ again _ . Like she _ always _ is. She could just _ picture _ the look on his face as she told him about throwing wine in Sharpe’s face. The way he would _ desperately _ try not to laugh as she panicked at him, and she feels her heart clench again. _ How long are you going to haunt me without letting me see you? _

Jester walks up to the front of her temple in her mother’s heels, and gets ready to let them all know they’re in trouble. 

She really is a terrible High Priestess. 

* * *

Jester is dreaming about a terrible _ storm _ when she feels hands on her face. 

The thunder rumbles through her chest and the lightning blinds her as she wakes up thrashing, trying to get away from the crashing of the sky. When her vision clears, Samson is the one shaking her, their eyes wide. “Jester, _ please _, you have to come with me!”

Immediately Jester gets out of bed, forcing herself to wake up as she notices the blood on her shirt, and all over Samson’s hands. “What the fuck is going on?!” 

They don’t answer her, they just dash for the door, and Jester has no choice but to follow them, her anxiety spiking as she does. Samson keeps _ running _ , explaining something and nothing at the same time. It isn’t until they turn the corner Jester realizes they’re heading for the _ circle _, and her heart stops in her throat. “Samson, is—”

She answers her own question, when she runs through the doorway and sees the body slumped there. Blood seeps from _ wounds _ , everywhere, and Jester is already on her knees, already casting, already _ pushing _ healing into this body, the pale skin, the half-open striking blue eyes, the beautiful hair. Jester wraps her arms around him and she _ prays _ until his breathing at least evens out, and his confused eyes meet hers. 

“_ Hiiiiiiiiiiii Bren _.” Jester sniffs, wondering when she had started crying. 

He blinks at her then _ exhales _, closing his eyes. 

And Jester feels herself _ breathe _. 

**Author's Note:**

> OH Heretic AU Lives!!!!  
Yeah It's been forever and I'm sorry about that! Shit just gets hard sometimes but HERE WE GO. Second arc.  
This was literally supposed to be a one shot but...guess not. Thank you for reading! Thank you for waiting!!
> 
> Youcanreplytothisprolouge


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